


Very Short Stories

by Theunderfreak



Category: Raging storm, Storm - Fandom, Unspecified Fandom, murder - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-12 13:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theunderfreak/pseuds/Theunderfreak
Summary: Chapter 1: When I stormed approached I seek refuge in an old abandoned farm.  That might have been a mistake.Chapter 2: The boy looked at the flower, "I wonder if it feels lonely" His mom looked at him "Flowers font have feelings dear,"





	1. The storm and the murder

**Author's Note:**

> So I write this in half an hour, it's not that good, it's really short and it has a cliffhanger ending (as most of my works do). But oh, well. I'll post it anyways because I like it.  
> Leave a comment and tell me what you thought. I would appreciate it :-)

The green and Yellow landscape lies before me. Except for the few trees and the old buildings in the center, the field was empty. I peered up to the sky, and looked at the clouds passing, they were white and fluffy, but not for long, east of the houses were dark clouds, approaching. I quickly headed down the hill and thought the fields, reaching the house in just a few minutes. I knocked on the main house and waited. Nobody answered. I knocked again, a little louder but didn’t bother to wait for an answer as I opened the unlocked door. As I took a step into the house, and dust whirled up around me, leaving an imprint on the floor. Clearly, the house had not been used in a very, very long time. The sound of thunder was heard in the distance and I kept heading deeper into the house ignoring the dust shoot up behind me. The house was old, but sturdy it would hold for the storm. I closed every open window I could find, also finding to my disappointment that a few of them were broken. I peered through the broken glass and felt the cold wind that warns of a storm, I could see the rain, and lighting making the dark clouds appear brighter. Then the storm hit.

I huddled down in the large living room, hiding being the worn down coach. It felt like hours passed, while the storm did not. It kept raging at the farm.

Another hour passed, and I was about to fall asleep, despite the thunder and rain outside. Then came a sound I hadn’t heard in months; the footsteps of another person. I peaked up behind the coach and saw a tall, muscular man talk past the doorway. The man as dressed in a dark blue suit, as flash illuminated the rest of his figure. His hair was dark and slicked back, going along with a lightly tanned face. I hadn’t been expecting anyone to live out in the countryside anymore, by now everyone lived in the large cities. In the center of the world, as they were called. Farms and small villages had all been abandoned for the more comfortable life of not doing anything but watch robots do our jobs for us. That’s when I saw the corpse he was dragging behind him, and I froze.


	2. The flower

“Look,” the boy pointed at the flower sticking up between the wooden bords. The woman looked up from the book she was reading and looked where her son was pointing.  
“That’s nice dear,” she said, giving a small smile before going back to reading.  
“Do you think it would like some water?” her son asked, gently poking the flowers pedals. Without looking up from her book the woman answered.  
“Does it look sad?”  
“No,”  
“Then it probably does not need any water,”  
“Oh,” The two sat quiet for a few seconds, the boy kept looking at the flower. “It looks lonely,” he finally said.  
“It’s a flower dear,” the mom answered, still not looking away from her book, “Flowers can’t feel anything,”  
“But you said it can feel sad,” the boy objected, looking at his mom in confusion “If it can be said, then it can be lonely,” The woman finally closed the book and looked at her son, dark drown eyes looking back at her.   
“It does not literally feel sad, it’s just something you say,” she explained, “If a flower needs water they start to wilt, and you say it looks sad,”  
“But,” the boy started to object but fell quiet, looking at the flower in front of him again. The woman took up her book again.  
“That’s just the way it is sweaty,”  
“No,” the boy stood up, and ran inside, as his mom watched. A few minutes later he came back with a small pot.  
“What are you doing?” she asked, he didn’t answer, he passed his mom and went to the flowers growing in the garden. Carefully he kneeled down next to the flowers and up rooted two of them, setting the flowers in the pot. “Honey,” The mom tried, but she was ignored. The boy walked back to the lonely flower and placed the pot next to it.  
“There, now it has friends,” he smiled at his mom, “It’s not lonely anymore.” His mom sighed and smiled back at him.  
“That’s nice dear,

**Author's Note:**

> So I write this in half an hour, it's not that good, it's really short and it has a cliffhanger ending (as most of my works do). But oh, well. I'll post it anyways because I like it.  
> Leave a comment and tell me what you thought. I would appreciate it :-)


End file.
